


loosen my tu(lips)

by awksha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends w/ Benefits, Hanahaki AU, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 22:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15895761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awksha/pseuds/awksha
Summary: “you’re going to keep coughing up flowers until it suffocates you from the inside.”he flashes her a red-stained grin. “how bad can that be?”draco finds himself surrounded in yellow petals and a girl who doesn't love him back.





	loosen my tu(lips)

he wakes up to an empty bed. blankets tangle around his legs but he finds no energy in him to kick them off. it’s a typical start to his week; waking up to an unoccupied bed, feeling cold and tired, is becoming a bad habit. nevertheless, he gets to his feet with a sigh and- 

stop. 

the room smells of her perfume. 

it is overpowering - a sweet, floral scent clinging onto the threads that line his sheets. the smell lingers, invades his nostrils as he takes a shuddering breath. he frowns; there is nothing he can do to get rid of it, but does he even want it gone? 

he stares at the bed, wondering if this will be his life from now on; the haphazard pillows and bundled blankets are not an unfamiliar sight. in fact, he’s seen this too many times to count. a haggard sigh trails past his lips as he presses two fingers to his temple. 

how long until everything collapses around him?

he can’t quite explain why the neat display feels so _lonely_ though. two flicks of his wrists remedy the mess, a simple cleaning spell rushing everything back into its original place. a cough tickles the side of his throat but he swallows it with a grimace, backtracking out the door to prepare breakfast.

it takes every inch of self-control he has to stop himself from hurling a bowl at the wall when he smells the very same flowery fragrance in his kitchen. instead, he bites down on the inside of his cheek until he tastes the metal in his mouth.

* * *

she stands next to him in the elevator at work, days later, and pretends that he doesn’t exist. her head is held high, the smile stretching across her pink lips an image of professionalism. the two minutes they share is not filled with conversation; there is barely a nod of acknowledgement. 

he knows this drill by now. 

that doesn’t stop the tension from building in his back, fingers digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood, while he waits for something in the air to change. another minute ticks past yet she still does not say a word.

when the doors open, ministry workers spilling out into the hall, he keeps his gaze leveled on her side-profile; watching, no,  _ waiting _ , for her to turn around. but today, just like every other day, she walks out without looking back. he ignores the dip in his stomach when her retreating figure disappears around a column. 

he glares at her retreating figure as his stomach dips with disappointment that he knows all too well. 

the secretary that sits at the entrance to the auror department does not get a greeting as he makes his way to his office. he squares his shoulders with a scowl, trying to ignore the residual anger lingering in the outskirts of his vision. the silence replays in his head over and over again but the bang of oak doors cuts through the ringing in his ears.

he pauses. 

there she sits, legs propped up on his desk, claiming it with authoritative ease. her wand sweeps through the air and the doors slam shut behind him. he wants to scream, to scoff at the way she has shamelessly invited herself into his office, but all he can manage is a strangled ‘what’ before she crosses the room in quick strides and presses him against the wall.

she kisses him like his lips are the oxygen she so desperately needs. he doesn’t argue when her hands tug at his robes, a frenzied task that soon has him shrugging them off at her growl. he slides his hand around her waist to flip her around; her back collides with the wall , knocking the wind out of her for two split seconds. she recovers quickly, roughly pushing his head against her neck, fingers twisting through blonde roots as she gasps. he pulls her legs to rest on his sides, hips colliding with a ferocity that makes them both groan. 

he feels warm as heat pulses through his veins. blood roars in his ears when she licks her lips, a glint in her hazel eyes that sends him spiralling - she’s a drug he can’t seem to escape, a curse he can’t shake. when she whispers his name against his skin and moans, he thinks that life can’t get any better than this.

later, she yanks on her skirt and places a gentle kiss against the stubble on his cheek; this is different. he stares at her for a moment, watching her lips  _ finally _ form that smile he’s been waiting for. she chuckles softly; he swears that he’d give his life for this woman if she asks. his eyes don’t leave her form when she pushes herself off his ruined desk.

“don’t worry,” she hums. “no one saw me enter, and no one will see me leave.”

his gut drops with regret as he squashes his pain into a nod. he watches her slip out the office, chest tightening when he realises that he’d still die for her, even if all he is to her is another quickie. 

as he slides his belt around his trousers, a cough fights its way up his throat, painfully rough. the fit doesn’t stop until he’s on his knees, crimson staining the corners of his lips.

* * *

one night finds him curled into his blanket, nose burying into the pillow beside him in hopes of catching the remnants of her presence. he replays the way she throws her head back, watching once more as she twitches and shivers under his touch; but there is a sense of self-loathing, not wholly unwarranted, that taints the memories of his rendezvous. 

something itches at his esophagus and he frowns - it’s been a week since the coughing fit began. he massages his neck, cursing at the thought that maybe the potion he has purchased is a fake, sold to him by a fraud. 

the dilemma is quickly forgotten when a familiar owl swoops in through his bedroom window. he clutches onto the tiny roll of parchment, stares holes into neat cursive, and thinks that maybe things are beginning to change. with hope filling his chest, he falls asleep dreaming of her cascading caramel curls.

he catches himself before colliding against cold ivory that very night. hunching over the bathroom sink, his body heaves alongside the shuddering coughs that tear its way out of his system. his fists are clenched so tightly that his knuckles are white, an arm propping his head up and pulling at his scalp. when he gags, throat ripping itself apart, he realises that this might not be some common cold.

then he sees it. 

chunks of yellow litter the sink, glaringly bright against dark red blood - the very same blood that stains the insides of his mouth. his breath leaves his lungs in wheezes; he pokes at that stray piece of yellow and-

_ fuck. _

it’s a flower petal.

* * *

 

pansy parkinson looks the same as always. she has her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, nose scrunching in a playful grimace when she sees him sitting on a bed in the emergency bay. the white coat she wears makes him proud; there aren’t many slytherins who repented after the war. she summons a chair, flicks the curtains closed, and dissects his silence with a small smile.

“it’s been since i saw you last, and this is how you choose to show up?” pansy teases, folding her arm across her chest, smirking when he chuckles in response. “so, what seems to be the problem, draco?”

he blinks - once, twice - and then says, “i puked flowers last night.” 

“i started coughing a while back but i thought it was no big deal because it didn’t seem to be anything more than the usual cold. when it got worse, i went to diagon alley to buy a soothing potion - it didn’t work.” he runs a hand through his hair, refusing to look at his childhood friend; he does  _ not  _ want her pity. “and then i started puking flowers.”

“do you know why?” she asks. 

“i wouldn’t be here if i knew.” he deadpans, scoffing. “i’ve only heard stories.”

“well,” pansy sighs, leaning forward with a frown tugging at the corners of her lips. “what you have is rare and known as the hanahaki disease; only one out of twenty wizards have this, and it’s thought to be strictly genetic. it’s born out of unrequited love, growing flowers within your chest that-”

a sudden coughing fit, violent and raw, interrupts her mid-sentence. she presses a cloth to his mouth, rubs a soothing hand across his back, and waits while he retches. when it finally ends, she pulls the fabric away to reveal a red stain and a heap of yellow flower petals. he thinks he hears her mumble ‘tulips’ but he’s too busy gasping for water to pay attention.

“listen to me draco.” she holds up a cup to his lips, placing a hand on his shoulder. he’s sure she intends for it to be comforting but it only builds the dread that rolls in his stomach. “the hanahaki disease can be deadly - you’re going to keep coughing up flowers until it suffocates you from the inside.” 

he flashes her a red-stained grin. “how bad can that be?”

“option one is a magical procedure that removes the flowers from your system. first, we give you a potion that burns them out from within; it’s  _ excruciating _ . after that, we carry out a series of memory charms to remove all connections you have with the person you’ve fallen for. by the time everything is over, you won’t remember her name or what she looks like. but draco,” she grips onto his arm and squeezes, makes sure he hears this. “you won’t remember how to love anymore.” 

“are there any other options?”

pansy swallows, “the last option is getting the person to reciprocate your feelings - she has to fall in love with you.” 

he launches into another bout of coughs as soon as the words reach his ears. he can feel pansy’s frantic arms fussing over him as he chokes up another yellow flower petal. after the heaving stops, lifts his head to see them lying on the floor, tinted crimson. pansy holds the back of her hand against her mouth and releases a shaky exhale. it’s funny how she seems more affected by this than he is. you nearly miss her question as you gaze into the distance, trying not to think about death-by-flowers.

“who is she?”

staring at it, at its soft texture and red splatter, he knows that he would rather let this disease kill him before ever forgetting about her. he lets out a defeated sigh and turns to smirk in her direction. 

“hermione granger.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> not beta-ed. i apologize for any errors in grammar or spelling.


End file.
